


Who Is In Control?

by ViveLaRebellion



Series: Musically Inspired [2]
Category: Markiplier (YouTube), Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood, Choking, Darkiplier - Freeform, Demonic Possession, Gen, Halsey | Control, Magic, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic, Song fic, no i did not write the lyrics into the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 20:39:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5512469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViveLaRebellion/pseuds/ViveLaRebellion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High above a city destroyed, there hung a man, or what was left of a man. He hung from a great dark lance rooted in the streets far below. It had pierced his chin and skewered his skull, and now it held him aloft. His skin was like coal, his blood like tar oozing down his neck and torso. His limbs were stiff and cold, a picture of death. He smiled.</p><p> </p><p>inspired by Control by Halsey</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Please Stop, You're Scaring Me

**Author's Note:**

> The inspiration for this is from Control by Halsey. The plot follows the song, but I won't write in each line as I go, as I feel that would break up the writing too much, but hopefully you will be able to place moments with the song. Enjoy!
> 
> words in italics (not including the first paragraph) are Mark's thoughts

_High above a city destroyed, there hung a man, or what was left of a man. He hung from a great dark lance rooted in the streets far below. It had pierced his chin and skewered his skull, and now it held him aloft. His skin was like coal, his blood like tar oozing down his neck and torso. His limbs were stiff and cold, a picture of death. He smiled._

\------------

Mark felt ill as the floorboards of the old house creaked under his step. Why had he allowed Wade to talk him into exploring this place on his own? No one came here, it was rumoured to be haunted, or at least inhabited by something unfriendly, and it was creepy to boot. Cobwebs caught in his thick dark hair as he ducked under a fallen rafter. The only reason anyone would have to come here was the talk of a safe filled with gold and jewels hidden somewhere in the basement, but that didn’t matter so much to Mark. If he was honest with himself he would admit he came here for the thrill of the scare. He had always delighted in stories of ghosts and monsters and the way the fear pricked at his spine when he allowed himself to believe them.

Dark images flickered in his peripheral vision. _Trick of the light._ Mark tried to convince himself that it was nothing, but chanced a look back even so. Nothing there. He let out a breath he didn’t think he’d been holding and continued forward, bemoaning his lack of foresight to bring a candle. He continued through the darkening hallways, trying to ignore the sound of skittering claws ( _rats_ , he thought to himself) and the way some shadows seemed to leer at him as he walked past. The old floorboards announced his every step until he came to the top of what appeared to be the basement stairs.

The dark space below him felt… wrong. Like it was hungry and eternal. There would be no returning from that darkness if he went in, he was sure of it. His feet were glued to the ground, his spine was stiff as a board. He felt a soft prick and tickle on the back of his neck, and his vision sparkled momentarily. _No. There’s nothing there. It’s only your imagination, nothing to be afraid of._ Mark had only just convinced himself it was safe when a deep growl rumbled from the abyss before him and a pair of bright yellow eyes lit up in the dark.

His heart slammed into his throat and with it erupted a scream. Whatever force had held him so still before was gone, and his muscles sprang into action. He ran out of there with the speed of a damned man fleeing the devils, and didn’t slow until the old house was out of sight.

“Fuck you, Wade! Holy shit balls just fuck you!” Mark screamed into his palms as he slumped against a tree to catch his breath. His heart hammered in his ears and his lungs burned. How the _Fuck_ had Wade convinced him he was ok to go in there by himself?! He swore to himself that next time he saw Wade, he would rip him a new one. That new resolve in his mind, he compose himself and started the trek home, a whole town over.

In an abandoned house, a few hills over, a cat climbed the basement stairs, blinking its wide yellow eyes in the approaching twilight.

\------------

Mark couldn’t sleep that night. He was plagued by nightmares, waking him up every hour until he simply gave up. His mind was still too wound up from the day, so he attempted working on his music. He found it helped him calm down if he could focus on his lyrics. He took up his lute and plucked at the strings, confirming they were still in tune before losing himself in his music.

Two hours passed this way until he began to actually listen to what he was playing. It was entirely improvised and had been for the last hour, but the melody had turned haunting and sour, dissonant chords and clashing notes dominated the tune. A shiver ran through him, starting and ending with a prickling in his neck and leaving a cold pit in his stomach. _Maybe that’s enough playing for now…_ Mark apprehensively put the lute back in its place, suddenly aware of the darkness pressing in around his little home. It was the witching hour of the night. The time when most of the world was deep asleep, and those corners that weren’t were not the benevolent type.

The shadowed corners of his room seemed to grow up around him, advancing on his bed, wanting to devour him alive and leave nothing left of him. They would come and take him and destroy everything there was to destroy. A strong wind blew in through his open window and extinguished his candles. Terrified tears sprung to his eyes and he choked back a shriek. He had never been scared of the dark before in his life, so why was he frozen in panic now? The prickling on the back of his neck was a constant now, the edges of his vision sparkling against the dark.

 _help me… anyone please come save me… they’re going to take me and destroy me… please help me…_ Mark sobbed silently into his blankets, biting down on his quilt and hugging his pillow in fear. He stayed that way until the first rays of sunlight stretched over the horizon.

Mark was disappointed he couldn’t go to sleep now that the sun was up, but he had to go into town. He wanted to find Wade and confront him. Also he was low on groceries. With a groan, Mark heaved himself up and out the door, planning to find Wade but not sure what he was going to say. He couldn’t just admit that he had been too afraid to retrieve the treasure. That would surely get him the title of Bubble Blowin’ Baby, and if there was one thing Mark’s ego wouldn’t allow, it was being called a coward. He decided to tell a story of how he was attacked by a demon that had threatened to possess him unless he left. Wade had always been more likely to truly believe stories of demons, so Mark decided it was a good tale to tell.

\------------

Mark found Wade loitering near some merchants, an apple in his hand and looking like he hadn’t a care in the world. Mark felt a swirl of irritation in his gut and his neck prickled. How dare Wade be so relaxed and content after sending his best friend nearly to his death the day before?! Mark allowed the irritation to grow.

“Wade!” Mark barked across the short distance separating the two of them, startling a few passersby. Wade jumped slightly, but smiled when he saw Mark.

“Hey! You made it back alive! I knew you would, buddy! Anything spooky happen?” Wade grinned wider until he saw his friend’s expression. Mark looked awful. There were dark bags under his eyes, his hair was disheveled, and a scowl was firmly planted on his face. “Are you okay? No offense but you look like shit.”

Another flare of irritation sparked in Mark’s gut. “Yes. “Spooky” shit happened. Do you want to know what happened?” Mark was trying not to shout, and didn’t allow his friend the chance to answer before continuing on. “I was attacked. I didn’t fucking think ghosts or demons or whatever were actually real, but one jumped me in that damned house! A fucking demon stared me down and threatened to possess me if I stayed. I didn’t even get to find out if there was any treasure, I was too busy running for my life!” Mark knew most of that was a lie, but that didn’t dull the rage and betrayal he felt. “So if I look like shit, it’s because I nearly died yesterday and spent the whole night afraid it would come for me anyway!” The prickling in the back of his neck was bordering on painful now, but he ignored it, just like he ignored the static trying to overcome his vision and the itch in his fists to punch Wade in the face.

Wade’s jaw seemed to be in the dirt. “Holy shit are you alright!? You aren’t hurt are you? Oh my God, Mark, if I had known-”

“Well you fucking didn’t!” Mark snapped at him, throwing as much venom into his voice as he could, wishing he could just slug Wade. A swirl of darkness swam into Mark’s vision just then, uncoiling like a whip against Wade’s head and sending the taller man reeling as if from a punch.

“What the fuck was that?!” Wade clutched his jaw where he was struck, eyes wide with confusion and fear as he looked down at Mark. Mark, who only looked slightly surprised and maybe in some pain, flexed his fist experimentally. The shorter man glanced up at Wade only for a moment, and Wade’s breath almost stopped at the sight of Mark’s eyes. The once brown irises had turned entirely white.

There was a pause before he answered. “I’m… Not sure.” His eyebrows furrowed further as he watched translucent black tendrils coil away from his fist. He hadn’t swung his arm, but a blow had landed anyway. The prickling in his neck was at an all time high and he could barely see apart from static and the black shapes. “Since yesterday I’ve been feeling weird. Anxious, kinda.” He wasn’t sure why he said that, but his voice felt pinched as he spoke.

Wade stood dumbfounded for a moment. “Maybe you did get possessed…” The words drifted out of his mouth without much thought, which proved a mistake as Mark’s temper flared again.

“There’s no such fucking thing as demons you idiot!” His rage was back to full force again. _Why am I so mad?_  “How are you that fucking stupid to believe in that shit?! It’s for kids! It’s! Not! Real!” Mark was screaming now, and a small crowd was gathering around them. Mark didn’t see them though, his vision almost completely white now except for Wade’s startled and frightened face.

“Why would you say you were attacked then?” Wade was scared and confused. He had never seen his friend like this. Mark did sometimes get irritated, and even then he tried to remain polite or at least refrained from attacking anyone, but never had he seen such unbridled rage.

Wade shrank back as Mark exploded again. “It was a lie you moron! I got fed up with wandering an abandoned shit hole so I left, end of story.”

Wade felt genuinely hurt now. Beyond the throbbing in his jaw he felt like he had been betrayed, somehow. “I thought you respected me at least enough to tell the truth! And Mark, if you aren’t possessed then how the hell did you do that?!” He rubbed his quickly bruising jaw.

Mark laughed in his face, hard and cruel. _Why am I being such a jerk...?_ “Wow. If you thought I respected you then we have had some serious communication errors.” _wait, but I do respect him. He’s my best friend, what am I saying?_ “Also I didn’t hit you. If I had wanted to hurt you, I would’ve just done this.” Mark felt his arm move before he could realize what was happening. _No._ He felt his fingers close around flesh and squeeze. _Stop, I don’t want this!_ Someone in the crowd screamed and a child began to cry. _No, no! I don't want this!_ He felt hands on his wrists, trying to pry him off. _Help me! Someone stop me!_ He couldn’t see. Someone called for guards as more hands started pulling at him and more voices shouted in his ears. _What’s happening?!_ The first pair of hands were weakening their grip, nails uselessly trying to dig into flesh before falling away entirely. He was killing Wade. He didn’t want to do this. _HELP ME, PLEASE!_

There was a sharp blow to the back of his head, and his world went limp and dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry Wade turned out being the one to get beat on. Wade is a wonderful person and doesn't deserve what I put him through


	2. I Can't Help This Awful Energy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark has to come to terms with his new reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> italics are Mark's thoughts

Mark awoke someplace cold. He was lying on a stone floor, grit scraping his cheek and chilling him to the bone. _Where am I..?_ Mark pushed himself onto his knees and further investigated his surroundings. It appeared he was in a cell, the only light was from a torch on the wall outside his door, with a sketchy mattress a few feet away. _They couldn’t even bother to drag me all the way to the mattress? How rude._ Mark shook his head, bemused, and regretted it instantly when he felt the blow that had knocked him out flare up across his skull again. With the pain came the memory of what had happened. He had felt unprecedented rage and attacked Wade. He might’ve killed him. _No._  Mark wouldn't allow himself to do that, Wade was probably fine. He hadn’t been in control of himself, though. It felt like… _Like I was possessed…_ The thought struck him like a bolt of lightning. That’s what Wade had said, that he seemed like he was possessed. And Mark had attacked him for merely suggesting it.

Mark stood up, his joints creaking in protest after lying on a cold hard floor for several hours. He stretched each one individually, wincing at their tightness. He rubbed a crick on the back of his neck and immediately pulled away, his mind screeching to a halt. _What the fuck..?_ Gingerly, Mark returned his hand to the spot he had felt. He felt a cold spot. On his neck. Not just slightly cooler, no, this was like holding an ice cube. “What the fuck is this?” Mark murmured, his mind couldn’t grasp what this was. He was shaking and felt ill and the room tilted dangerously, bringing him to his knees. He brought his hand in front of his eyes to see a chalky black substance on his fingers where he had touched it. “Okay what the FUCK is this?!” He began wiping at the spot desperately, hoping it was simply something smudged on his neck from being dragged, but it didn’t go away or appear to be a simple streak of charcoal. In fact it soon coated his hands in the coal black dust. “What the fuck is happening?”

Mark was fighting for breath as his mind and body descended into panic and shock. His vision began to sparkle again, and he squeezed his eyes shut against it in vain. The prickling started once more, in what he now identified as The Spot, and his head swam as the room tipped again, successfully dumping him on his face. He opened his eyes to the sight of his hand spitting black sparks. _What is happening to me?_ A panicked sob wracked his body and he watched more sparks sputter out from his palm in time with his shaking. _Why does it react to that?_

A spark of curiosity took light in Mark’s mind and he grabbed on to it and fed it. He found out quickly that if he tried to control the sparks, all he did was make them go away. The same held true if he tried to fake his emotions or emulate them physically to manipulate the energy. But when he allowed himself to descend back into that place of fear and desperation the black sparks returned, albeit much weaker now that he was focused on them. What he also discovered as he tested the darkness was that his hearing got stronger, while his sight progressively whited out. He could hear footsteps in other corridors and the rats in the walls, and each sound came as a jarring surprise.

 _Can other people see the black sparks? Wade didn’t seem to notice the tentacles earlier, what if I’m the only one who can see them? No one would believe me._ That thought frightened Mark, sending off a small burst of sparks from his index knuckle. That he was probably in this cell to wait to be tried for assaulting his best friend, and his only defense was that he was literally possessed but had no way to prove it. He might get sentenced to life in prison. His stomach turned, and he quickly rolled to his hands and knees, retching uselessly. He hadn’t eaten since before he went into that damned house. He had nothing to purge.

It was then that a guard appeared at his cell door, jingling too loud keys and turning a cacophonous lock and opening the door on grating rusty hinges. “Fischbach, time to walk.” He said blandly, shackling Mark’s hands. This was his day job, Mark didn’t expect him to make a show of it.

The majority of the walk was uneventful. They wound through long, dark corridors, occasionally ascending a flight of stairs, until they came out into a hallway with windows, and that hallway connected to one with tapestries, which lead to one with mirrors along the walls. That hallway made Mark’s flesh prickle, especially his neck. This wasn’t fair. It was like he was being paraded in front of himself for judgement. He cast his eyes down, but his vision was sparkling too intensely to see where he was going properly.

 _What have I done? Who did I let myself become that I would do such a thing? I’m disgusting._ He watched darkness splash out from his footfalls and leap toward the walls as he heard the guard next to him gasp in shock. Mark was vaguely aware of a dull and heavy thudding sound proceeding down the hallway. He pulled his gaze from the ground to see the reverse side of every mirror, as if someone had turned them around inside their frames so the ugly wooden mount was on display. The guard had drawn his sword and was looking at Mark as if he had become a griffon, but continued to lead the prisoner to their destination.

They entered the throne room with a page announcing their arrival. The room was massive and beautiful, with stained glass windows throwing rainbows across the floor, columns that were meticulously carved and crafted held the high ceiling aloft, and polished tiles in mosaic patterns spread out underfoot. Mark couldn’t help but gape at the magnificence of it all. _If I am to die, this is surely a beautiful place to receive the news._ He mused to himself as he was pushed before the King and Queen and shoved to his knees.

The Queen spoke first, rising from her seat, her royal gown flowing like water as she moved. “Do you know why you are here?” Her voice was stern and authoritative as she looked down her nose at him.

Mark chewed the inside of his cheek briefly, debating how to word his reply. “I am here because I attacked Wade Barns in public.” His voice came out clear and steady, despite the black sparks crackling off his body that betrayed his unease only to himself. A nagging worry tugged at him. “Is he alright?” The question came out much weaker, more childlike.

The Queen’s expression softened at his question, seeming apologetic. “I’m afraid you did more than simply assault Mr. Barns. He was beyond medical help. You are currently charged for murder. What is your plea?” Her voice hardened as she spoke, but she seemed to understand he hadn’t intended the man’s death.

Mark’s world shook. Wade was dead? He had killed Wade, his best friend Wade? “No… No but I…” _I didn’t mean to!_ Mark couldn’t process this. Tears pricked his eyes. “... I wasn’t...” _I wasn’t in control! It wasn’t me!_ He couldn’t defend himself. “... He can’t be.” Mark had never felt so utterly defeated in his life. He was floundering for words, or even for thought, while trying to fight off the encroaching whiteness that was advancing upon his vision and quell the prickling in his neck.

The King now spoke, but did not rise, his voice filled the room well enough to be imposing. “What is your plea, young man?” He had a booming but almost fatherly voice, which only pulled more tears to Mark’s eyes.

Mark desperately tried to sort through his thoughts. Part of him wanted to plead guilty because he knew it was his hand that killed his friend, and he should take responsibility. He wanted to take responsibility. But that would mean dying, and Mark wasn’t ready to die, but no sooner was he ready to rot in prison. _Wade would want me to live_ . Maybe if he could prove somehow that he had not been under his own control he could be spared the noose, but how would he…? _Maybe if I can do something with the powers I can convince them it isn’t my doing?_ It was risky, but possible. He cleared his throat softly before announcing “I plead not guilty.”

The Queen nodded. “Very well. What is your defense?”

Mark’s resolve cracked. What was he supposed to say? “Um… I was not in full control of my actions. I was under the influence of another being, and, um, I believe I still am.” May as well tell the truth, even if it still got him killed. His heart was hammering in his ears.

The Queen tilted her head, apparently intrigued. “Do you expect me to believe that?” She wasn’t condescending or incredulous, she seemed to be genuinely asking.

Mark sighed. “No, anyone with logical sense would declare it fantasy and therefore impossible. But I swear to you it’s the truth.”

The Queen returned to her seat with a sense of elegance Mark had never seen from the simple act of sitting. She leveled him with an even stare that felt like it stripped him bare. “Mr. Fischbach, I like to think I have a capacity for believing the fantastic from time to time. If you can prove that you were not under your own control, I will task my court magician with purging whatever has hold over you and you will be sentenced to five years imprisonment. If you cannot prove your case you will hang.”

He felt a wave of relief wash through him, grateful that she was so understanding and fair. “That sounds reasonable. Thank you very much.” There was still the matter of proving his case, which would not be easy. “Your Majesty, is the court magician currently present?” Mark figured if the court magician could identify The Spot on his neck as a sign of possession, he could prove himself right there.

She nodded and gestured to the left, where a young man with greying hair and blue eyes stepped forward. He bowed his head to her before approaching Mark. “What can I do fer ya?” Mark’s eyebrows rose at the man’s strange accent. It certainly wasn’t local.

Mark got straight to the point. “There’s a black Spot on the back of my neck, do you think you could identify it?”

The magician nodded and stepped around behind him, only to awkwardly step back in front of him, thick eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. “Em, there’s nothin’ there. It’s just a neck.”

Mark blanched and his vision began to fuzz out. “What? What do you mean there’s nothing there? No, look it’s even rubbed off on my hands, look!” Mark desperately splayed his matte black palms before the man, sure he had to be able to see it. He was a court magician! If he couldn’t see it, what was Mark supposed to do?!

Instead of the desired moment of recognition, the man just shifted awkwardly. “Listen, I’m sure you see something there, but I just can’t see anythin’.” He dipped his head apologetically and started to shuffle away.

Mark panicked. His one chance to prove himself was leaving. He needed him to come back! Mark’s vision whited out entirely and watched a black arm reach out and grab the court magician, dragging him back. _No! Oh shit, no I don’t want this!_ _No! Stop! Don’t do this!_ Mark didn’t realize he had shouted all of this, but he had a sneaking suspicion as he felt his voice break. He couldn't focus on that though, because the world tried to tip him over again.

When his vision flooded back, the court magician was inches from his face, concern painting his features and hands gripping his shoulders. “My name’s Jack.” His wide blue eyes continued to search Mark’s features, studying his eyes. “What just happened, as you experienced it?”

Mark would’ve blushed at the proximity if he had it in him, but he felt weak and shaky. “Um, my vision whited out and I saw a black arm reach out and grab you, and The Spot on my neck really hurts, but you can’t see that, I guess.” Mark’s eyes lowered, so he missed Jack’s reaction.

“I saw the arm.” Jack blurted. When Mark looked back up at him the magician quickly adjusted his statement. “Well, I more felt it, but me mind’s eye saw that. Scared the daylights outta me. And you, I guess.” Jack took a step away to better look at Mark. “Do you control it?”

Mark shifted his weight uncomfortably. He couldn’t really tell. “Um, sometimes, I’ll have an impulse thought and it’ll act on it to extreme levels, I normally can’t control it, though. Like that started as a thought for you to stay, but I never wanted to grab you like that. But yesterday I just got mad and lost control of myself. Those weren’t even my words.” Mark progressively got more sheepish until he dropped off entirely at the end. Shame burned his cheeks. Black crackled around his wrists. Jack took another step back.

The magician started piecing together what Mark said. “So, fear and distress is more directly controlled by you, but anger lets somethin’ else take control a' you?” It sounded like a plausible thesis, and when Mark nodded he started working on a way to prove this man’s innocence. “Okay, I got a plan, I dunno if you’re gonna like it though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i was not nice to Wade. I am the worst and I'm so sorry. also yay jack! hes a bro. gotta love him.


	3. You Should Be Scared Of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> High above a city destroyed, there hung a man, or what was left of a man. He hung from a great dark lance rooted in the streets far below. It had pierced his chin and skewered his skull, and now it held him aloft. His skin was like coal, his blood like tar oozing down his neck and torso. His limbs were stiff and cold, a picture of death. He smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> italics are character's thoughts. bold is Dark

A royal guard watched the two closely. He couldn’t hear what was said, but the court magician seemed apprehensive. The prisoner appeared to be getting progressively more agitated as the magician spoke to him, until there seemed to be a dark shadow around the two of them. Not yet opaque, but unsettling. Then the prisoner suddenly lashed out ferociously at the magician, and the windows high above shattered into rainbow shards. There was a loud bang from the center of the room where the two stood and the guards watched in awe as the heavy iron shackles fell to the ground. On the balcony an archer readied his bow.

\------------

He couldn’t see. The world was too white and The Spot was trying to fill it up with black. His heart roared in his ears as the unbidden rage curled and spat in his stomach, extending itself as curling reaching black whips against his white vision. He could almost hear Jack over the din, no longer antagonizing him. Mark caught the occasional comforting word, the slighter man trying to soothe his rage. _Jack, you need to run! I don’t want to hurt you!_ Mark wished he had his voice so he could warn him, but his vocal chords were rumbling with a low growl.

He watched in terror as inky blades whipped off him in every direction, continuing on until hitting something. _Please don’t let me hit anyone!_ He heard shouts, some of terror, others were soldiers barking orders. “ **Goddamn right, you should be scared of me!** ” _that isn’t me! please Jack, understand that isn’t me!_ Mark clawed at his consciousness, battling for dominance with the invader. “Jack pleas-” _run._ Mark managed to choke out a plea before his will was stomped out again and the pain flared up again.

Mark’s knees buckled under the pain, still fighting for his body. _I will always fight for my body, it’s the only one I have!_ He saw Darkness start to rise up around his vision in a bubble, trying to isolate him. Jack was shouting on the other side of the bubble, so Mark pushed his will to clear a path for the magician, and wound up popping the whole thing. He reclaimed his body. “Jack… run.” He was weak, but he didn’t want to hurt this kind man, and he felt the Dark clawing its way back to dominance.

Mark’s vision suddenly burst into colour and shapes again, and with it came a choking pain through his neck. The world froze. Jack shouted. Mark tried to breathe and felt blood fill his lungs. He coughed up a burst of blood that trickled down his chin. His mind went dark.

\------------

Jack stared in horror at the arrow, expertly shot, skewering the prisoner’s neck. “Mark! No!” Jack ran a few steps forward to catch his new friend before he fell. The dark haired man struggled for breath and coughed once, crimson cascading between his teeth and down his chin. Jack felt the man's heart stop. Mark had only just reclaimed himself, but now they had killed him. He was dead. There was no way. “What have ye’ done!?” The exclamation jumped from his lips before he could check himself.

An officer answered the shout. “He was a danger to the Royal Highnesses. He had to be killed.”

Frustration and desperation lit up in Jack’s chest. They didn’t understand! “No! Ye’ve just doomed us all!” They were all going to die. Movement caught his eye, as Mark’s body’s head turned to look at him. It smiled. _We. Are. Dead._ Jack suddenly wished he believed in some deity to pray to.

“ **It’s nice to have the place to myself.** ” It grinned wider. “ **I forgot how comfortable a freshly deceased body is.** ” Jack was sure he was going to wet himself. He could see the black marks now, but they were more numerous than Mark had told him. It turned Mark's head to look at the archer high on the balcony before booming " **Thank you for killing Mark. He was really taking up so much space in here. It felt rather cramped.** " It appeared to be done gloating, and so turned its attention to the thrones. “ **Do you know why things get written, Highness?** ”

The Queen raised an eyebrow at the question, but humoured the beast. “Things are written so that they may be shared with others.” Her voice was strong and even. Jack resolved that she was the bravest woman on the planet.

The demon laughed. Jack started to back away slowly. “ **Things are written, my dear, because it is the surest way to immortality. If I were to write a foul villain, he would live many of your lifetimes.** ” It extended an arm, and from its arm dripped blackness that congealed in the form of a large spider that skittered away. Jack hadn’t thought it’s smile could get much wider, but it did, peeling back Mark's lips into a grotesque mockery of a smile. “ **If I were to write of myself, however,** ” it extended its arms and coal black scales began to appear over Mark’s flesh. The arrow turned to ash as the Darkness touched it. “ **I wonder, would I never die, even if I were dead?** ” It suddenly trained its now white eyes on Jack. “ **Can you tell me, great magician? For you must know a great many things, even if you do not know me.** ” It spoke the last remark with a scathing bite.

Jack tried to find his voice, but it was gone. He had nothing he could say with certainty, and any uncertain remark would be his last. The demon narrowed its eyes and frowned, a welcome expression compared to the Cheshire grin it had stretched Mark’s face into. “ **You are a useless whelp. But you also assisted my awakening. You alone shall live.** ” It drew a blade from its Darkness, easily ten feet long, before turning to the rest of the room. The smile was back and wider than ever. Jack felt woozy. “ **The rest shall make simple blood.** ”

Jack wished he could close his mind to what followed. The demon massacred the entire room, blocking escape routes with its Darkness and rending its victims in any number of brutal ways, mutilating and dismembering as it desired. The blood pooled and spread across the meticulously polished tile floor, lapping at his shoes and the hem of his cloak. He curled over himself and was sick, his bile mixing with the spilled blood. All the while the demon laughed in the background. It felt like days passed before the killing was over, and even then, there was an entire castletown ripe for the slaughtering.

The demon walked out into the setting sunlight, taking in its surroundings. A wide plaza stretched before it, with families playing and couples sitting shoulder to hip. It sneered and walked to the center of the plaza, faces turning to stare at the matte black creature in their midst. It sent its Darkness outward, snarling at the few surprised gasps from the crowd, before sucking all its power back under itself, rocketing upwards on a thin tower of Darkness.

It planted deep roots beneath the masonry that reached out and seeped between cracks, eviscerating anyone it touched until the plaza was as much a bloodbath as the throne room. When the black roots touched buildings they destroyed their foundations and cornerstones, leveling the structure. The destruction filled it with glee, and it took its perch high above the city to watch the carnage and listen to its symphony of death.

\-----------

Mark felt light. Weightless. Did he have a body anymore? Did that even matter? Thoughts flowed through him, none quite interesting enough to reach out and hold onto. He occasionally tried to remember how he came to be where he was, but that too was uninteresting. Mark would sigh if he had lungs. He was bored. And tired. Was he dead? The thought of death sparked no feeling in him, so he assumed he was.

“Jack should be here.” The words floated through his lips, without much thought as to who this Jack was. Mark was sure Jack would be good company here, though. Those thoughts started to float away from him when he remembered a face, so he pulled the thoughts back. There were blue eyes and a bushy brow. He decided that must be Jack. How could he see Jack again? He seemed like he would make a good friend.

_you need to wake up!_

Oh. But I’m broken, I think.

_you need to wake up!_

Isn’t there something in the way? My body was not my own.

_you need to wake up!_

_fight for your body! it’s the only one you have!_

Mark blinked. He told himself that not too long ago. It was true.

Okay, I’ll give it a shot. Not like dying twice is any worse.

Mark started to ponder how to take himself back when he felt a familiar light flutter in his chest, or where his chest would be. So he grabbed on to that and followed it closer to physical feeling. As he neared his destination there were barriers of rage and bloodlust trying to block his mind from climbing back inside, but he didn’t pay much mind to them, and simply rode through them on the strand of physical sensation he had found. Soon he could smell smoke and iron, and he followed that to a coppery taste. With focus he found the earth rumbling and screaming children. He was so near. He reached a little further and found the destructive expanse stretched out before him. Using the string of physical sensation he tied himself to his body and began exploring how to move again. It was a fascinating combination of sight and touch.

He felt the Dark lash out against him as he managed to move a hand. _I will stop you._ Mark focused the thought at the demon, who laughed. But that jovial flutter granted Mark a more solid foothold. He then felt alarm writhe in the demon, so he pushed harder.

**You cannot do this.**

_um I think I am doing this_

**what do you think you can do?**

_I think I can weave your magic a little bit_

Mark found the handle for the magic and pulled it to his center, seeping himself into it until he saw a pattern to exploit. _you really shouldn’t group everything like this…_ he mused to himself, drawing up the destruction from the streets far below and pulling them into a spike before driving them at the demon.

_are you scared of me yet_

**No! Stop!**

_you should be scared of me_

**You cannot do this!**

_goddamn right, you should be scared of me_

Mark braced himself as he shot the point toward his own head, and he welcomed the finality of the impact.

_Gotcha_

\------------

_High above a city destroyed, there hung a man, or what was left of a man. He hung from a great dark lance rooted in the streets far below. It had pierced his chin and skewered his skull, and now it held him aloft. His skin was like coal, his blood like tar oozing down his neck and torso. His limbs were stiff and cold, a picture of death. He smiled._

 


End file.
